


hold that thot

by Deisderium



Series: food for thot [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dragons, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beefy Bucky Barnes, Beefy Steve Rogers, Blood Drinking, Body Image, Cross Cryptid Romance, Ding Dongs, Dragons, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, In-Laws, M/M, Marriage Proposal, OMG They're Still Roommates, Sudden Beef Attack, Vampires, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-23 19:29:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21086609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Deisderium/pseuds/Deisderium
Summary: The current trouble starts when Bucky pulls on his favorite pair of skinny jeans and they won't go over his thighs. He tugs at them insistently, only stopping when a thread threatens to pop. He's ripped clothes accidentally many times since becoming a vampire, but mostly Steve's too-small shirts when they were in the way, not just trying to get dressed to go out.He's a vampire! He's been on a liquid diet for two years now! He doesn't think it's possible for him to have gained weight--but still he can't get dressed.*In which Bucky's clothes don't fit all of a sudden.





	hold that thot

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to [em](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goodmanperfectsoldier) for the twitter conversation that led to this sequel! it went in a very soft direction. XD

The trouble starts when Bucky tries to pull up his pants.

Well, the trouble _starts _when some random vampire bites Bucky and leaves him to figure out the whole undead thing on his own, but that particular cloud had the silver lining of jumpstarting his and Steve's relationship, so he doesn't even count it anymore.

The _current _trouble starts when Bucky pulls on his favorite pair of skinny jeans and they won't go over his thighs. He tugs at them insistently, only stopping when a thread threatens to pop. He's ripped clothes accidentally many times since becoming a vampire, but mostly Steve's too-small shirts when they were in the way, not just trying to get dressed to go out.

He's a vampire! He's been on a liquid diet for two years now! He doesn't think it's possible for him to have gained weight—but still he can't get dressed.

Maybe Steve put them in the dryer on the wrong setting? He doesn't think _he'd_ have done it—he's pretty careful with his clothes—but it could have happened, he guesses. He peels the jeans back down his legs and digs through the closet, looking for clothes that fit (distressingly few) and finding clothes he can’t even zip up (many.) He swallows the feeling of panic, of his body being a strange thing. He’s knocked down his box of treasures that he keeps on the top shelf, and he shoves his mother’s jewelry and the book of photographs he has of his family and of himself and Steve as kids back up over the clothes. 

He takes a deep breath and roots through his dirty clothes so until he finds the pair of track pants he had on before. He steps into them thoughtfully. They're maybe tighter than they were when he bought them, but he really can't say. He looks at his closet mirror reflexively and sighs. No reflection, of course. He'll have to figure this out some other way.

He tries to take a selfie, but with just him here, he can only get arm's length away and it's not really good for getting a full body photo. He snaps a few anyway, tries to decide if his chest seems broader or something, and then sends Steve the one where his nipples are most obvious through the thin fabric of his dark gray t-shirt, and the face he's making isn't too stupid. 

On any other day, he'd just say, "Hey, Steve, do I look different to you?" but the trouble with that plan is that Steve is at a graphic design conference out of town for the weekend, hence Bucky's need to get dressed and go out in the first place. It's an unfortunate fact of vampire biology that he needs to feed daily, and while Steve is always happy to help him out, when Steve's not there, he has to make do with other people.

And it really is making do; he's gotten spoiled, drinking dragon's blood all the time. It's stronger than regular human blood, and besides that, it's special when it's the two of them, Steve literally sharing himself with Bucky in the most basic, visceral way. The fact that they're usually having sex while it happens certainly doesn't make it feel _less_ intimate.

He misses Steve. He missed him even before he was having a low-key panic attack about what fresh new hell his body is going to put him through. The first days of being a vampire were like a second, much-worse puberty. Is it happening again? Is he changing _again_? 

He can feel anxiety circling him, waiting to pounce. He needs to eat, but more importantly, he needs to not freak the fuck out, so he calls Natasha.

She answers on the second ring. "James?"

"Hey, Nat." He takes in a deep breath. "I think—I think something's going on with me. I could use a second opinion. Can you meet me somewhere?"

She names a bar close to her apartment, and he sighs in relief. He scans his closet, finds a pair of jeans he can wear, although his thighs fill them out more than he remembers from the last time he wore them, and he has to struggle to zip them up and do the button. He chooses a soft gray sweater with leather patches on the shoulders out and pulls it on. It's a little warm, but he's always cold, and he wants something soft, something enveloping, since Steve isn't here to wrap him up in his giant arms. Anyway, it's not as tight as what he usually wears, but he still looks good—he hopes. He's going to have to pick up something to eat on the way home.

Steve's tried leaving him blood to drink, but it's a lot harder for him to drink it when he's not taking it from Steve. It's something about the exchange, he thinks, something about the way it's tied up with skin and sex. It's a shame, because while dragons don't really attach any special significance to monogamy, Bucky was human before he was a vampire, and he still feels a little guilty sometimes about being with other people. But he has to feed, and it can't always be Steve, so he's done his best to make his peace with it.

But that's a problem for a few hours from now Bucky, not him. Right now, he needs to go see Nat and figure out what's happening to his body _yet again._

When he gets to the bar, it’s early enough that it’s not packed, but there’s still a decent-sized crowd. It’s an upscale place; a converted warehouse with exposed pipes and brickwork, and a polished copper bar with a long mirror behind it. His eyes go to it automatically, but it no more reflects him than the one in their apartment did. He scans the tables instead, looking for the bright flash of Natasha’s hair.

Nat's already there. He's taken aback to see another woman leaning in, brown hair falling past her shoulders, talking to Nat, but as he gets closer, he sees it's Wanda, and his shoulders relax. Wanda's cool. She's Steve's friend more than his, but he's gotten to know her over the last couple of years and he likes her a lot. She's a witch and a researcher, and while he didn't even think of calling her, she probably knows more about vampires than Natasha does.

The two of them spot him as he makes his way through the crowd, and his vanity is placated to see that people still move out of his way, and stares still follow him, no matter what's happening with his body. He waves at Natasha and Wanda, and they wave back, and he stops at the bar to get a drink and goes ahead and picks up another round for his friends too, his eyes sharp enough to pick out that Wanda's drinking rosé, and Natasha is, of course, drinking vodka.

The bartender flirts a little, but even though his hunger is piqued, Bucky ignores him. Whoever Bucky picks up will feel drained when he’s done—literally—and he's not enough of a dick to do that to the guy while he's working. Bucky just smiles, takes the drinks, and tips extra.

He walks to his friends' table, the three drinks held carefully, and for a few seconds it's all just hellos and air kisses as he slides into the seat and sets the drinks down. He likes this bar; there's music playing, but it's not loud, and he doesn't have to yell to be heard.

"So what's bothering you?" Natasha downs the remainder of her first drink and takes him in from head to toe.

"It sounds stupid," he admits, glancing at Wanda. Her blue eyes are sympathetic, and he makes himself take a sip of his whiskey. They're all friends here. "I, uh. I tried on some jeans today and they didn't fit."

Nat just glances at him, but Wanda gives him a thorough looking over.

"You're definitely much bigger than the last time I saw you," she finally says. His mouth is suddenly dry, and he sets his drink down.

"Bigger how?" he manages.

She waves her hands up and down, and then sideways. "You've got a lot more muscles." She takes a sip of wine. "I think you're taller, too."

"That's not typical," Natasha says, "for vampires."

"I didn't think it was!" Bucky complains. Something inside him is uncurling a little bit though; he isn’t making this up. It's not normal, but he isn't so different that they're looking at him weird. He hands Natasha his camera. "Would you take a picture of me? I can't look in a mirror, and I can't tell how different it is." 

"Stand up," Natasha says, and directs him while she snaps a series of pictures. "It's not bad," she assures him. "You just look like you've been spending some serious time at the gym."

He makes a face, but when he scrolls through the pictures, he can see that she's right. Even under the sweater, his chest is broader and he can see the swell of his pecs, more pronounced and defined than they used to be. His thighs strain the seams of his jeans, and his ass is definitely more rounded. Even his jawline is more defined, the trace of baby fat under his chin gone. It's different, and it's a lot to take in, but he's still himself. Just...bigger. He has to take a quick panicked breath at the thought that Steve might not like it, but Steve just saw him a day ago, and he doesn't think this happened overnight.

"You've been feeding mostly on Steve for the last couple of years, right?" Wanda asks.

Bucky would be turning red if he could blush right now. "Yeah, nearly exclusively, since right after I turned."

"I can't say for sure that's what it is, but my suspicion is that there aren't that many vampires that have had the chance to feed just on another supernatural creature. Dragon's blood must be a little different from human blood."

"It, uh." Bucky runs a hand through his hair. "It tastes and feels a little different than regular people, too."

"Feels different?" Wanda leans forward. "How so?"

Bucky shifts in his seat. He's never tried to articulate this before, except to Steve. "Hotter," he says. "Smokier. It feels...thicker. More powerful." He takes a breath. "I feel warmer when I drink from him."

Natasha leans back and gives him a speculative look. Wanda leans forward, her eyes lighting with enthusiasm. "Would you be willing to keep a journal for me? Track your measurements, weight, body temperature?"

"I. What?" is all Bucky manages to get out.

"You're right." Wanda frowns. "It would have been better to start tracking from the beginning so we could follow all the changes as they happened, but even at this late date we might still get some interesting data. Your situation is unique."

"Is it?" Bucky says skeptically.

Natasha sips her vodka. "Most supernatural creatures are more protective of their blood than Steve."

"Well, it’s not like he’s sharing it with any old vampire," Bucky says.

"That’s for the best," Wanda says absently, scribbling notes on a bar napkin. From what Bucky can see, it's things she wants him to keep track of. "Dragon blood is a key component in a lot of spells, so it's a valuable—"

Bucky knows he's gone pale—paler—and Natasha stiffens beside him as Wanda cuts herself off.

"I'm sorry," she says, fingers stilling on her pen as she looks from Bucky to Natasha. "That was thoughtless. I'd never use spell components given unwillingly, you know that, right? I'm very careful about how I source things. But a big reason why people are protective about their blood is because, historically, assholes have tried to take it."

"I never even thought about that," Bucky says quietly.

"What you and Steve have is special," Natasha says, and then pokes her sharp elbow into his ribs. "Even outside of how constantly gross you both are over each other."

"Let me get the next round," Wanda says, still apologetic.

Natasha leans closer as Wanda gets up. "You're going to tell Steve, right?"

"Of course," Bucky says, nonplussed.

"Good," Nat says.

He has a few more drinks with Wanda and Natasha before the hunger really sets in. "I've got to go," he says, and leans forward to kiss them each on the cheek. 

"Stay safe," Natasha says.

"Have fun," Wanda says.

He rolls his eyes at both of them and leaves. He could pick up someone at this bar, but he feels weird about doing it in front of his friends. The bartender waves flirtily as he leaves. Someone who’s not working will be a lot better for everyone, though.

He goes to a club he's been to before, and even though he's feeling sensitive about how he looks, it doesn't take too long to pick up a guy. He's still concerned about the difference between human blood and dragon blood so he tries to pay attention, but it's all mixed up with missing Steve too, so he's just not sure. Maybe it's just that anyone who's not Steve is disappointing, when it comes down to it.

But he does what he has to do. He's not quite as constantly horny as he was in the first days of being a vampire, so he just makes out with the guy before he takes his blood. The euphoria he causes when he feeds is still present, and the guy will most likely remember it as a really good club hook up. He leaves him dazed and drowsy in a chair in one of the corners of the club and texts Steve on his way home to say he misses him.

It's going to be a long three days until he comes back.

🧛

Bucky's never been so happy for it to be a Monday in his life, because Steve is finally coming home. He didn't want to talk about his body issues or whatever on the phone or via text, so he's been saving up all that anxiety for Steve. It's the opposite of a good gift, but Steve's put up with every other thing Bucky's thrown at him, so maybe it'll be okay.

The sound of Steve's key in the lock is the most welcome thing he's ever heard, and Bucky barely gives Steve a chance to throw down his bags before he's wrapped around him like an extremely insistent overcoat prone to kissing.

Steve doesn't seem to mind; his big hands wrap around Bucky's torso, and he pulls him flush against his body. Bucky licks and kisses along his mouth, sucks on his bottom lip. "I missed you," Steve says, his fingers flexing against Bucky's waist.

"I missed you too," Bucky says, and then pulls back just a little, because he _should _let Steve get home and settled in, but he's been freaking out about his body all weekend and he really just wants to be reassured that Steve still wants him, even though he knows that he does.

Steve's eyes are satisfyingly wide, his pupils big as he takes Bucky in, but his brow takes on a little wrinkle. He leans forward and digs his hand into Bucky's hair and pulls him closer so their foreheads are touching. "What's bothering you?"

Bucky sighs and closes his eyes. "You just got home. Why don't you settle in and get comfortable first?"

Steve rumbles a _hmmmmm _and pulls away from Bucky, but only to grab his hand and drag him forward.

"Steve," Bucky complains, but they both know he doesn't mean it as Steve pulls him to their bedroom.

Steve doesn't even bother with anything beyond toeing off his shoes. Then he flops down on the bed, pulling Bucky after him, and then somehow Bucky is on top of Steve's enormous chest with Steve's enormous arms holding him in place and the warmth of Steve's body seeping into his skin. Bucky can't help sighing and nuzzling into Steve's neck.

"Tell me what's going on, Buck," Steve says, once they're situated to his satisfaction.

"It's kind of dumb," Bucky says. 

"It's not dumb if it's bothering you," Steve says. 

Bucky sighs and burrows his face a little deeper into Steve's collarbone. One of Steve's hands runs up and down his spine. "Do I look different to you?"

Steve pulls back just a little, tilts Bucky's head to look at him. "You look the same as you did when I left."

Bucky laughs a little. "No, I mean—some of my clothes don't fit anymore." He sits up, straddling Steve's hips, and tugs his t-shirt up and off.. He feels self-conscious, aware of the bulkiness of his chest, his biceps beefier than ever they've been in life or death. Undeath? Whatever.

"You look good to me, Buck," Steve says. His eyes are lit with a familiar heat, his pupils gone wide and black.

"Steve," Bucky tries to chide, but it's hard when he would happily jump on Steve in a heartbeat. But he does want to talk about this first. "Don't you think I look bulkier than I did when I first turned?"

"Yeah, I guess so," Steve says, "now that you mention it." He puts his large, warm hands on Bucky's hips and slides them up over the ridges of muscles in his abdomen, curls his fingers around the swell of Bucky's chest. "I didn't really think about it. I guess you haven't been exactly going to the gym."

"No," Bucky says. He leans forward, encouraging Steve’s touch. "I don't think it would do any good if I did."

"So what is all this? "Steve asks. His hands travel back down over Bucky's torso, coming to rest on his hips, his thumbs stroking the little divots on the inside of Bucky's hipbones.

"Wanda and Natasha think maybe it's your blood doing this to me," Bucky admits.

"Me?" Steve pushes himself up on to his elbows, his face an almost comical mask of surprise. "This happened because you mostly feed from me?" Okay, Bucky mentally corrects himself; make that a mask of surprise and dismay. Bucky's not sure why Steve's distressed, but they'll figure it out. They've had plenty of practice figuring out weird shit, after all. 

"Steve, it's okay." Bucky pushes on Steve shoulders until Steve falls back flat on the bed again. "I was surprised, but I'm not upset." That's mostly true anyway, and Steve never has to know about Bucky freaking the fuck out and calling Natasha.

"But I didn't want to—" Steve swallows hard, and Bucky can't _not _lean down and kiss the tender skin of his neck where Bucky has bitten him so many times. "Buck, I hate the thought that I was trying to take care of you and I did something to you that you might not want." 

Bucky kisses the skin of Steve's throat again, sucking lightly over his pulse in a promise that he'll fulfill later, then pulls back enough that he can look Steve in the eyes.

"Don't think that way. Neither of us knew what would happen, and if you think I'd take back even a second of the last few years, you're wrong. So what if I don't look exactly like I did?"

"You can't tell me it wasn't weird to look at yourself in the mirror and see someone different than the last time you looked," Steve says, his voice low, and yeah, Steve knows what that's like. He'd bulked up enormously and suddenly in his twenties. Not to mention how it felt when he shifted from dragon to human. Bucky makes a note to ask about that later.

"Well, I couldn't look in the mirror," Bucky says lightly, and when Steve winces apologetically, he rolls off of him and to the side so he can pull Steve closer. "I got Nat to take some pictures for me instead, it's fine." He lifts a hand up so he can trace the line of Steve's jaw with his thumb. "I'm not going to say it wasn't a shock, to look at myself and see a person who didn't match my mental image of myself, but...it's not bad, right? It's just different. As long as...as long as you still want me."

"Always," Steve says fiercely, and leans in to kiss him. 

Bucky is happy to lose himself in the feel of Steve's body against his. It makes him hungry, always: for blood, sure, but also for the press of skin against skin, for the intimacy of the space made between the two of them, of knowing Steve's body as well as his own. 

But Steve draws back before he can fully fall into the spell of it. "Did Wanda say anything else? It's not hurting you, is it? To feed just on me."

"She doesn't think so," Bucky says. "She wants me to track my measurements." He laughs a little self-consciously. "That way at least we'll know if I'm getting any bigger."

Steve pets down his bare torso, running his fingers over Bucky's biceps, over his pecs, tracing a line from his rib cage down to his hips. "I just want to be sure I'm not hurting you. I had no idea this could happen. I would have—"

"I wouldn't change it," Bucky says firmly. "I like feeding from you. It feels good. Not just your blood. I feel really close to you. That's the best part for me."

"That's the best part for me too, Buck," Steve says. "I'd give you anything. You've got to know that."

"I do," Bucky says. "I promise, I do. And you do, Steve—no one could take care of me like you do."

"Please," Steve says. He rocks up against Bucky, and Bucky can feel the hard length of him through both of their pants. But that's not what Steve means; he's grabbing the collar of his shirt and pulling it down to expose his throat. "Please, Bucky."

"Take your shirt off," Bucky says hoarsely, because how can he say no to that? "I don't want to mess it up." It's been a long time since Bucky's spilled feeding off Steve, but he feels intense with want, sloppy with it.

"I don't care about the shirt," Steve says, but he's already pulling it over his head, revealing the thick planes of muscle Bucky loves so much, as much as he loved the delicate arch of his shoulders when he was younger. He runs his hands down Steve's torso, following every curve of his musculature. Steve's skin is hot to the touch, so warm beneath his cool fingers. He loves the feel of it, like what he remembers of sunlight against his skin.

"Come on, Buck," Steve whispers. "Let me warm you up." Bucky doesn't know how he's supposed to resist Steve saying things like that. He doesn't know how he's supposed to resist Steve at all. Probably best for them both if he doesn't.

He gets up on his knees, presses a kiss to the smooth skin next to Steve's belly button, then kisses his way up his torso. He supposes it's the reverse of the path most people would take; up instead of down. But Steve's breath is coming faster because they both know how good it will feel when Bucky gets his fangs into him.

Bucky licks at the hollow of Steve's collarbone, tastes the salt of his skin. The blood pulses beneath the surface, metronome-steady with each beat of Steve's heart. 

He's beautiful like this, arching up beneath Bucky's touch, rising to meet him, warm and strong and so alive. Bucky kisses his way up Steve's neck, then sinks his fangs in and drinks. Steve moans, and Bucky echoes him, suspended in pleasure warm and thick as honey. Steve's blood is richer than anyone else's Bucky has ever tasted, salty and a little smoky. Bucky presses his body to him, wanting every inch of skin touching, even though it's really not skin that's the source of the feeling flooding them both right now.

"Ah, Bucky," Steve gasps, and Bucky loves it when Steve sounds like this, drunk on the sensation that Bucky gives him. Steve's blood is flowing into him, that and the touch of his skin satiating the need that drives Bucky all the time now. Bucky trails a hand down Steve's side, over the sensitive skin at the notch at his hip, and pushes Steve's waistband down so he can get his hand on his cock.

"_Fuck_," Steve says. His hands scrabble up Bucky's sides to rest at the small of his back, so he can pull him even closer. God, it feels good, and Bucky would sink even further into him if he could, let himself melt until all of him was part of Steve, to be carried with him everywhere he goes. He's getting warmer, skin heating from the inside out. It feels unspeakably good. He drinks until his belly doesn't remember what hollow feels like.

Bucky withdraws his fangs and licks the wound to close it. It will heal without even the faintest scar, between Steve's dragon constitution and whatever vampire thing is in Bucky's saliva. It's one of the many things Bucky appreciates about Steve, that Bucky can drink and drink from him and never needs to worry about hurting him. He makes sure not even a single drop of blood evades his tongue, and then licks lower, kisses his way across Steve's chest to suck on his nipple.

Steve groans, and his hands slide up Bucky's back to thread through his hair. Bucky makes a sound against Steve's pec, and Steve laughs. Bucky can feel the vibration of it rumble through Steve's big chest. He moves to Steve's other nipple, sliding his thumb across the one he was kissing a moment before, and Steve says, "Oh God, Bucky, that feels so good," and that's exactly what Bucky wanted; it's all he wants.

It's perfectly acceptable to feel smug about the effect this is having on Steve, and Bucky, well, Bucky can't deny that he feels smug.

They're both still wearing pants for some dumb-ass reason that Bucky can't fully comprehend. He knows that they're both fairly smart individuals, so he can't understand why they didn't plan ahead better. He flops off of Steve only long enough to wriggle out of his pants, then turns over so he can tug Steve's pants down and off over his ankles. It's probably too rushed to be actually sexy, but it seems to be having the right effect on Steve anyway. His cock is hard and flushed, arching over his belly, the tip shiny with precome.

Steve has thrown one arm behind his head, his neck arched back against the pillow, his cheeks flushed, and even though Bucky's just fed, the sight sends a spike of want through his belly. Bucky runs his hands up Steve's legs, over the muscles of his thighs, straining against nothing. His eyes are dark with desire, looking pleadingly at Bucky, and Bucky doesn't have it in him to deny Steve anything. Steve said he would do anything for Bucky, but the reverse is true too. Steve has never made him feel less than treasured, and it's how he wants Steve to feel, always.

Bucky slides his hands up Steve's thighs, rubs his thumbs over the sensitive skin at his hip bones. He doesn't leave him waiting, but licks at the head of his cock.

"Bucky," Steve says breathlessly.

"How do you want me?" Bucky punctuates this question with another another lick, from the root of Steve's cock to the tip.

Steve groans. "Want you in me."

"I can do that," Bucky assures him, and reaches for the lube they keep next to the bed.

As a general rule, Bucky doesn't really care who fucks whom. Steve is patient, and thorough, and dedicated to making sure Bucky feels good no matter who is where, and Bucky tries to return that kind of unwavering care back to him. The way Steve's eyes are focused on him, the way he looks at him, is so open and trusting, and Bucky wants nothing more than to be worthy of that.

He gets a dollop of lube on his fingers and rubs them over Steve's hole, gently working a fingertip into the tight ring of muscle. He's patient and gentle, until Steve's asking him not to be, and then he pulls his fingers out only to slick up his cock. He lines up and pushes in slowly, the muscles of Steve's abdomen tensing, his broad chest flushed and heaving with each breath. Bucky loves the breadth of him, responding to everything Bucky does with him.

"Yes, fuck," Steve says as Bucky finally gets fully seated in him, breathing hard himself, electrified by desire. Bucky thrusts slowly at first, his own thighs tensing as he finds the right angle. When Steve moans and looks at him, wide eyes almost shocked by his own pleasure, Bucky knows he's found it. He rocks forward faster, deeper with each thrust, and Steve feels so good, hot and wet and tight around Bucky, an inferno of want consuming him with every touch.

"Steve," he says helplessly, and Steve surges up to kiss him, their mouths finding each other, the angle a little awkward, but worth it.

Steve comes first, head thrown back, the parallel marks of Bucky's fangs faded but not gone. The ripple of his muscles around Bucky drags his own orgasm out of him, and he clutches helplessly at Steve as he rides the wave of it out.

Bucky pulls out carefully, and collapses to Steve's side, burrowing into his ribs and pressing a kiss to his pec. Steve leans off the bed and comes back with a t-shirt with which he wipes himself off. Bucky keeps kissing him, occasionally lazily nibbling on whatever skin is nearest. Steve laughs and turns to kiss him. "You just ate," he says fondly.

"Maybe I just like kissing you," Bucky says.

Steve pulls Bucky closer and runs his hands up and down his back. Bucky lets himself go boneless. It feels good. Steve's hands run over the muscle, trace the way it wraps around Bucky's ribs. "You really don't mind?" Steve says softly.

"Just took some getting used to, I promise," Bucky says. "Besides, there are worse fates than looking like you've gone to the gym a lot without actually having gone to the gym. I'd put up with a lot more if it means being with you."

Steve tugs gently at Bucky's hair and kisses the part of his face that's closest—his forehead, as it turns out. "I love you, you know that?"

"I do." Bucky turns his face and tilts it up so he can kiss Steve on the mouth. "You make sure I do."

They lay there for a minute together, content. "Besides," Bucky says, after a moment, "you know what this means?" Steve hums a little questioning sound into his skin. "It means none of my clothes fit anymore," Bucky goes on. "Looks like you'll have to take me shopping."

🧛

The thing is, Bucky has been known to say things he doesn't one hundred percent mean. When he said he wanted Steve to take him shopping, he was, in fact, pretty much full of shit.

So it's a surprise to him when Steve wakes him up just after sunset a few days later, blows him enthusiastically, and says, "Eat up. we have errands to run."

"Yeah," Bucky says, his mind still not entirely online due to the orgasm that he just had. "Wait, what?"

"You need new clothes, Buck." Steve shoots him a sly smile. "You can't just hang around in joggers and t-shirts all day. Night," he corrects himself immediately. "I can't believe that your self-image is going to allow you to spend more than a few days in clothes that aren't tailored to your ass."

"I don't know, Steve," Bucky says. "My self-image is pretty robust these days, considering you can't keep your hands off me."

Steve shoots him an affectionate look. They both know who can't keep his hands off whom.

"I don't need to eat just yet," Bucky says more seriously. "It can wait until we get back from wherever we're going." 

Steve shoots him a heated look. "I'll hold you to that."

The sun is, of course, already down, but there are a few pale streaks of pink still lingering in the clouds. Bucky glances up at them a little wistfully. Steve notices, of course; Steve notices everything about Bucky.

"One day," he murmurs into Bucky's ear. It makes Bucky smile, because the vampire who made him hadn't been good for much but he'd at least told him a thing or two, and Wanda had confirmed it: as he gets older, he'll be able to endure more sunlight, not _always_ have to sleep when the sun’s out. He might never go to a beach again, but there are worse fates. He'll be able to watch the sunset from their window, able to see the morning sun with Steve. He won’t always have to make Steve flip his schedule around Bucky's.

Not that Steve needs to sleep as much as a human would; dragons require a lot less in the way of actual rest. But still; Steve had always enjoyed sunshine, as long as Bucky had known him, staying out even on the hottest days while Bucky fussed over him with the suntan lotion. Now Bucky knows that Steve is incapable of burning in actual fire, much less sunlight, no matter how bright, even in his human form. But he'd still like to see him again, stretched out flat in a chair or on the beach, soaking up rays the way it delights him to do.

But those are thoughts for the future, and Bucky has come to realize over the last few years just how much future they have ahead of them. It's a comforting thought for another time, but tonight Steve's taking him to the shops. And not the kind of place where Steve gets clothes for himself, because although Steve likes nice things, clothes are not important to him the way they are to Bucky. Steve has a closet full of soft, well-fitting sweaters, and soft, well-tailored slacks, and a few very nice pieces that Bucky has chosen for him, but he never cares who made them as long as they're well-made, and his clothes don't attract attention more so than any clothes on a handsome, muscular man would. Bucky dresses differently; he always has, even before he was turned. He likes clothes that draw attention. He likes clothes that enhance his physique. He likes clothes, he might as well admit it, that draw the eye to him, because he likes being the center of attention.

Or at least, that's how he's always dressed. He's going to have to rethink some of his sartorial choices, because what flattered a lean, lithe body is not necessarily what's going to flatter the mountain of muscle he seems to have become. And while he was joking about Steve taking him shopping, he does need another set of eyes, because without a mirror it's hard for him to judge what looks good. Natasha is usually able and willing to help with this, but for as plainly as Steve dresses relative to Bucky, his eye is impeccable, and he would never lead Bucky astray. Steve knows what Bucky likes, and knows what looks good on him.

"We don't really have to do this," Bucky says.

"I want to," Steve says firmly. "You'd still be the same size if it weren't for me."

"Steve," Bucky says, "I'd still be a hot mess if it weren't for you."

"I want to do this." Steve leans down to press a kiss against Bucky's hair. "Please let me."

And, well, he can't say no to that. They go from boutique to designer store to boutique, Bucky trying on any clothes that catch his eye or Steve's, getting Steve's commentary as he tries them on. Steve snaps pictures with his cell phone and shows Bucky what he looks like, but Bucky is just as happy to rely on Steve's say-so. Steve helps him choose new slacks and jeans, shirts and sweaters that flatter him. Steve makes him buy a pair of gray suede ankle boots even though, as Bucky notes, his feet haven't changed size.

"But they look good on you," Steve says, and well, Bucky can't disagree with that. 

After the fifth store, though, he gets a little uncomfortable at the number of bags hanging off Steve's muscular forearms. He hasn't been keeping track of how much Steve is spending, but none of these stores are inexpensive.

"I think I've got enough now," he says. "We don't need to go anywhere else."

"You sure about that?" Steve asks. "You have an extensive wardrobe, Buck. I don't want you feeling underdressed."

"I have an extensive wardrobe that took years to build," Bucky says. "This seems like a lot all at once."

"If you're done, you're done." Steve shifts the many bags on his arms so that he can reach out and put a hand on Bucky's bicep. "But if you're not, let's keep going. You know I'd love to dress you up."

"I don't know, Steve, are you trying to be my sugar dragon?"

Steve bursts out laughing and reels Bucky in for a kiss. "Is that what you want?"

"No, I just want you," Bucky says. "Come on, let's go home."

They get home and Bucky makes a section in his closet and his dresser for his new things, resolving to go through the old and get rid of what no longer fits, no matter how affectionately he remembers each piece. Maybe he can donate them, or sell them, or something. He runs a hand over his favorite green sweater and bites his lip. It’ll probably stretch to more or less fit him, right? He doesn’t want to get rid of this one.

Once he has everything arranged to his satisfaction, he pulls out one of his new purchases, a soft, charcoal gray sweater that clings to every swell of his musculature, and a pair of black leggings. He pads barefoot out into the living room to rejoin Steve.

Steve makes a pleased sound when he sees what Bucky is wearing. He holds his arms wide and beckons him over. Bucky collapses into his lap with an exaggerated sigh.

"Shopping is so exhausting," he says.

"It looks good on you," Steve says. He strokes a wide hand down Bucky's back. Bucky leans into his chest because he can, breathing in Steve's scent. He always smells so good. "Everything always does," Steve murmurs.

"Thank you," Bucky says softly into Steve's collarbone. "You didn't have to do all that, but it was fun.”

"It doesn't bother you, does it?" Steve asks. "I got the feeling you thought it was too much."

"Maybe a little. It's not that I don't like it, it's just—" He bites his lip, trying to think of how to say it, and smiles internally when Steve's eyes flip down to the motion, his expression not exactly hungry, but looking as if it might get there soon. "It's just I know that it's your hoard that you're spending on me like that. That's for you."

Steve laughs a little, and his arms tighten around Bucky's back. "It’s just money, Buck. There's no amount of treasure that could be as precious to me as you are."

Bucky knows he feels that way, because god knows he feels the same, but it still bowls him over when Steve just says it like that. “I love you,” he says, and Steve doesn’t protest when Bucky pulls him into the bedroom.

🧛

Bucky thinks about it later, though. He knows that things don't have to be exactly equivalent to be fair. As long as they're both happy, they don't have to put the same things into their relationship, or get the same things out of it. But he can't help but feel that Steve does so much for him; more than he does for Steve.

Bucky has a job, sort of; he does a little copy writing from home these days, since he can't exactly go into the office during the daytime, and most of the lucrative jobs want people who will come into an office. Steve has money, and he says he doesn't want Bucky to worry about it, but Bucky can't help but worry, not when Steve is also his literal source of food ninety-nine percent of the time as well as the most considerate roommate he's ever had the fortune to have, even before they were having sex on the regular. Demonstrations of love come easily to Steve, whereas Bucky is aware that he plays it a little closer to the vest, even though he doesn't mean to, even though he wants Steve to know how he feels all the time.

And he tells him, he does, but he wants to show him, show him in a big, dramatic way. No— scratch that; big and dramatic are all well and good, but what he really wants is _meaningful_.

Steve is the best thing that ever happened to him, and he wants Steve to know that intrinsically. He wants Steve to know that he's in it no matter what other weird things life manages to throw at them; he's in forever. And forever is a lot less hyperbolic for the two of them than for most people. He wants something that will say it even when he's not there.

He knows what he would do if they were human, but they're not.

Well, it looks like there's some research he needs to do.

🧛

"What do you mean, vampires aren't monogamous?"

"Well, Bucky," Wanda says hesitantly. He can tell she's trying to be diplomatic. "I mean, _you _aren't monogamous—"

"I'm monogamous where it counts," Bucky protests. "I'm monogamous in my heart."

"Most vampires aren't monogamous anywhere," she says. "It's sort of part of the whole vampire deal. The taking of blood, the having sex with your victims—"

"I am uncomfortable with that terminology," Bucky informs her.

She rolls her eyes. "Most vampires are not monogamous with their prey, because their prey don't have the stamina that Steve does. You couldn't feed from a human the way you feed from Steve."

"I'm not comfortable with that terminology either." He bites his lower lip. "What about with each other. Are vampires monogamous with each other?"

"Oh, Bucky," she says, and it's not exactly condescending but there is a little hint of, _oh you sweet summer child _about it. "Vampires don't have romantic relationships with each other, not like you're thinking."

"Oh, come on," he says. "Really? We're hot, and charismatic, and we like to fuck! You're telling me that we don't want some of this?" He gestures at his own chest.

"Let me rephrase," Wanda says. "Vampires do indeed have romantic relationships with each other, but not long-term partnerships. They form alliances, but for you, sex and feeding are entangled, and vampires can't feed on each other."

"This is balls," Bucky says. He only barely manages to keep himself from saying _this sucks_, but experience has taught him that that is a joke which Wanda is unable to resist. "So what do vampires give each other as a symbol of alliance?"

"Contracts, I believe," Wanda says.

Bucky grimaces. "That is, like, the least romantic thing I've ever heard."

"What do you think marriage is?"

Bucky buys Wanda another coffee and resolves to ask someone else for help.

🧛

"What you really want to do," Natasha says, "is build him a nest."

"A nest," Bucky says. "We already live together. In an apartment. Which is not...nestlike."

"Maybe that's your problem," Natasha says. "How can he know you're serious if you're not willing to make a shelter for your future eggs?"

Bucky takes a slug of his neat whiskey. He can't tell if she's fucking with him or not. "I don't think dragons have nests, Nat."

"_Everyone _appreciates a good nest."

Bucky sighs and buys her another vodka. He needs information from a more relevant source.

🧛

Bucky remembers Sarah Rogers as an indulgent, hard-working, single mother, strangely strict about some things but strangely lax about others. And all of those things are still true, it's just that what Bucky didn't know at the time was that Sarah and Steve were dragons.

But he knows that now, and it's that with which he's trying to inform himself when he copies Sarah's number out of Steve's phone.

She doesn't live in New York anymore. She went back to Ireland, he thinks, unless the story of their Irish forebears was an obfuscation to cover wherever dragons are really from. But the point is, she's gone somewhere far away, so he can't just show up on her doorstep and ask her about Steve the way he used to when Steve was seeming especially frail, and had caught what at the time he thought was pneumonia, but was actually probably some kind of dragon plague.

The phone rings, and Sarah picks up before Bucky expects her to; but then, she probably picks up New York numbers even if they're not Steve, just in case.

"Hello?" she says. It's only because Bucky is so familiar with Steve that he catches the brassy undertone of her voice. He'd never noticed it before, but then again, he has senses now that he didn't have as a child.

"Sarah?" he asks

She's quiet for a second, and then, "Bucky?"

"Yeah, it's me."

"Is everything okay?" she asks immediately, and Bucky feels kind of bad for worrying her.

"Yeah, Steve's fine." He hesitates. She knows that they're together, and she knows that he is a vampire, and she knows that he knows that Steve's a dragon. But, since Steve and Bucky got together, he hasn't really talked to her more than to exchange pleasantries. She left to give Steve space, and he's pretty sure that she doesn't approve—not of him, she loves him, in her own way. But of his and Steve's relationship. Of the fact that it's more than friendship.

"I, I wanted to ask you a question." She doesn't say anything. She just waits. He knows that she's paying attention though; the silence on the other end of the line has a very intent listening quality. "It's about Steve, of course," he says. He bites his knuckle. "He's always taking care of me. And I want—if we were who I thought we were when we were kids, I'd be asking him to marry me. But I don't think vampires do that, and I know dragons don't. So I wanted to ask you—how can I let him know that this is it for me? What can I do to show him?"

"James," she says, and her voice is smoky and amused. "Don't you think he knows?"

"That's not really the point. If I'm doing my job right, he knows. But I want to show him anyway. I want it to be explicit and unquestionable. If we were both dragons, what would I do to show him?"

"If you wanted to show him that you trusted and loved him above all others, you would give him something precious from your hoard. Not just any old treasure; you would give him the jewel of your collection." Her voice is solemn, and though he can't see her face over the phone, he can envision her expression: the little wrinkle between her eyebrows that she and Steve both get, the firm set of her mouth. "And then he would give you something precious from his hoard. It's a symbol of how much you trust the other person with what is important to you. This is a gesture which, even when it isn't romantic in nature, symbolizes how important the other person is to you. If you do this, James, you have to mean it."

"Sarah," Bucky says, "I've never meant anything more in my life."

"Good," she says softly. "I know it's true for him too. It has been since you were small."

"I know that now," Bucky says. "I promise I'll take care of him."

"I know you will," she says, and they talk a little longer of other, less weighty things, before they both wish each other well and hang up.

🧛

The problem is Bucky doesn't exactly have a hoard. He'd give Steve anything he wanted, anything at all, but he knows that nothing he has is really hoard-worthy. He mopes around the apartment, trying to think of what he could possibly give Steve. Steve notices that he's being distant and weird, of course, but Steve lets him. They've known each other long enough at this point that Steve is not going to let a little thing like Bucky being distractible bother him.

It isn't until he's putting his new clothes into his closet that it occurs to him. He has the perfect thing to give Steve. It takes a bit of digging until he finds it where he knocked it over when he was going through his clothes in a panic: the little velvet box that his mother gave him before she died. He opens it, and runs a hesitant finger over the metal and gems inside.

His mother didn't leave him a lot of jewelry; she gave most of it to Becca, and he's completely fine with that. His mother had said something about saving it for a girl you really love, but he doesn't think she would be sorry that it's going to Steve.

Becca has Winifred’s wedding ring, but Bucky has her engagement ring, and the necklace his father gave her on their twentieth anniversary, an intricate chain of gold with tiny sapphires on every fifth link. He loves it, he realizes; the blue reminds him of Steve’s eyes. He hopes that it will be enough for what he wants. The other thing he has that means the most to him are the albums full of pictures from their childhoods. Looking back at them, he thinks he can see how strongly they felt when they looked at each other. They're always next to each other in every picture, arms slung over their shoulders, or leaning into each other, always touching each other.

He takes Winifred Barnes's jewelry in his hands and hopes that it will be enough.

He guesses he needs to call Wanda.

🧛

Bucky is unaccountably nervous.

Or, well, he supposes it's pretty accountable after all. It's not every day you ask your interspecies boyfriend to take your relationship to the next level. Or really, Bucky guesses, it's not every day you try to confirm for your interspecies boyfriend what you both already know. Steve has to know he's it for Bucky—Bucky tries to tell him all the time, but he wants to be even more explicit. He had to get Wanda to help him make what he wanted, because if his mother's ring and necklace weren’t already the jewel of his collection, then they certainly are now, when he has made them into the best symbol of his love that he can think of. Outside of that, his collection is really mostly slutty clothes and used paperback books, all of which Steve is welcome to anyway.

Bucky's never been all that much of a cook and certainly less so now, but he spends the time before Steve comes back from work making dinner with things Steve likes. Steve's metabolism has always been very fast, a result of both his physical size and the energy that he burns just by existing, the magic that he uses even when not actively transforming. So Bucky bakes potatoes, pulls their middles out and squishes them around with cheese and bacon, puts the whole mess back in to the skins, and bakes them again. He makes a big spinach salad and dresses it with a lemon vinaigrette. He pulls steaks out of the fridge to let them warm up to room temperature, but he won't grill them until Steve is ready to eat. It won't take long; Steve prefers them to be so rare they could still moo. He even has a dessert, although he didn't make it; he bought a chocolate roulage at the bakery down the street.

Bucky's got everything just about ready when he hears the key in the lock. Buzzing of anticipation travels up his spine; it's not exactly nervousness, but it's not _not _nervousness either.

"Hey, sweetheart, what's this?" Steve says as he walks in.

"It's dinner," Bucky says innocently. His nerves are setting off sparks along his spine, in his guts.

"What's the occasion?" Steve hangs up his jacket and kicks off his shoes, divesting himself of his tie and tossing it onto the table next to his keys.

"Just wanted to do something special for you." Bucky's not exactly being coy on purpose, but he feels surprisingly shy. Even though he knows this is going to be well received, he’s still nervous.

"Well, it smells amazing in here." Steve walks up to Bucky and tugs him closer, pressing a soft kiss against the corner of his mouth. "I feel bad that you can't really eat any of this. I'll have to make sure you get fed too, later."

"I could be up for that plan," Bucky says. The velvet box in his pocket seems to be burning a hole through the cloth right into his skin.

They eat—or rather, Steve eats while Bucky watches him voraciously. He loves to watch Steve eat, even though he can't do much more than taste solid food without it making him sick. He lets Steve feed him a small bite of everything, but watching Steve eat the food that Bucky made for him is satisfying, an inverse of Bucky feeding on him. Steve is generous with his praise for all of it, complementing Bucky on the flavors he himself won't taste except in passing. But he thinks Steve likes it too, Bucky doting on him in his own way, as best as he is able.

After the roulage, Steve pronounces himself stuffed. Bucky pours them both a glass of port, since liquids are much less of an issue than solids, and sits down next to Steve on their sofa.

"You gonna tell me what this is about?" Steve says. "Not that I didn't enjoy every second of it."

"I got to thinking," Bucky says.

"Oh no, did you hurt yourself?" Steve smirks at him, and Bucky gently punches him in the bicep for being an asshole.

"I'm actually trying to be serious here, jerk," Bucky complains.

Steve's expression softens, the way it always does. "Sorry."

"I got you something," Bucky says around the sudden lump in his throat. "It's—I talked to your mom, and she told me it's something dragons do for each other, to show when they really trust each other. I don't have much of a hoard, but I took my mom's jewelry, and I had this made."

Steve's eyes are suspiciously bright and shiny as Bucky reaches into his pocket and pulls out the velvet box. He kind of feels like maybe he should be down on one knee to do this, but also like he's just fine exactly where he is. He opens the box and sets it in Steve's outstretched hand.

"Bucky," Steve whispers. "This is—" He swallows hard before he can speak again. "This is really beautiful."

It is, Bucky can admit to himself. He did a good job with this, finding a jeweler who could turn his scribbled sketches into something even better than he had imagined. The gold band is formed by a series of loops and swirls that suggest wings, jagged edges that suggest teeth holding tiny sapphires the blue of Steve's eyes in either form. Steve fumbles it out of the velvet and Bucky takes it from him so he can slide it on Steve's ring finger.

"It's not like your clothes," Bucky says around the tightness in his throat. "I got Wanda to help me with the spell. It'll change with you. So you can wear it whether you're on the ground or flying."

"Bucky, it's incredible." Steve stares at the ring on his finger, his eyes glowing—literally, the way they do when he changes forms—his expression both tender and wondering. Then his gaze snaps up from the ring to Bucky's face., "But I don't have anything for you."

"Steve," Bucky says helplessly. "You don't have to get me anything. You give me _everything_. I just wanted to do something to say how much I love and trust you."

"I understand," Steve says softly. "You wanted me to have a symbol."

"Yeah." Bucky takes Steve's ringed hand and uses it to pull him close enough to kiss. Steve's lips are soft against his and he tastes of port and chocolate. Bucky has to make himself pull away. "I figure you have to know that you—you're it for me, the one person I've always wanted and always want to be with. But I wanted to show it to you, too. I don't want to take you for granted—you're so good to me, and I know it."

"Bucky," Steve says, and it should be impossible for his eyes to gleam even brighter, and yet they are. "Are you asking me to dragon vampire marry you?"

Bucky bursts out laughing and buries his face in Steve's collarbone. "Yeah," he says once he can talk again. "I guess I am. Sorry—I mean it really sincerely, but the way you said it—"

"I know." Steve tips his chin up and kisses him. "I said it that way on purpose."

"It's a good thing you're pretty," Bucky tells him.

Steve kisses him again, sucking his lower lip into his mouth. "Not as pretty as you." Bucky tenses a little, because he isn't sure he can apply _pretty _to how he looks now. Steve notices, of course; Steve always notices. "Bucky," Steve says, right in Bucky's ear, "you're beautiful."

"Steeeeeeve," Bucky whines, because he'd be blushing if he could. "This is supposed to be about you right now, not me."

Steve kisses his jaw, right below his ear. "No, it's about us—about both of us. That's how it always is. Listen, you wanted me when I was little, too, right?"

"Yeah." Bucky sighs. "I was just too dumb to make a move."

"So, can't you trust me when I say I want you both ways, too?" Steve tosses his head back and pulls Bucky's head to his neck. He smells so good and Bucky's fangs want to descend, but he just drops a kiss on Steve's skin, feels him shiver beneath the touch.

"I do trust you," Bucky murmurs against his throat.

Steve turns his head so he can kiss from Bucky's jaw to his lips. "We should get human married too."

"What?" 

"We could go to the courthouse in the winter, after the sun sets. We'd write our vows. Maybe have Nat as a witness." Steve rubs between his shoulder blades, his hand warm against Bucky's spine. "And then we could have a party with all of our friends to celebrate."

Bucky pulls back just far enough so he can look Steve in the eye. "Are you counter-proposing to me?"

Steve laughs. "It's not a counter, it's just that I'd like to do both." He ducks his head a little, and his cheeks flush a delectable pink that reminds Bucky that _he _hasn't eaten yet. "I've been thinking about it for a while. I love this—I love that you thought about this and made it for me." He holds up his hand so the ring catches the light. "But that's a promise between the two of us, and while that's the most important, I want to tell the world."

"Yes," Bucky says, and pulls Steve into another kiss. He feels light with happiness, a balloon that could float off into the sky. "Let's do it. Let's get all the kinds of married." He presses a kiss against Steve's neck, a promise for later, for always. "I want to tell the world too." 

**Author's Note:**

> just a quick visual reference or two for Bucky's embiggening


End file.
